xii. sex with my ex.
◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ׁ ˙ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ׁ ˙ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ׁ ˙ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ׁ ˙ ◞ ྀི◟

July breezed by almost faster than Augustine could register it — before she knew it, she was tossed into the early beginnings of August's crazy frenzy of fashion week.

New York — her favorite fashion week to begin with. Summer break was coming to a close, Carlos had taken off with his family to Spain and Augustine... well... she had some commitments.

The bustling of New York fashion week was enough to keep her busy — she'd spotted several people she knew or at least knew of.

Kelly Piquet. She knew Kelly fairly well — they'd become quite friendly throughout her relationship with Max and Kelly's with Daniil.

It's Kelly who approaches her first; her eyes lit up in recognition, "Augustine!"

"Kelly." Augustine greets warmly, "I... I didn't know you were..." she gestured at the model, "here." she finishes finally.

Kelly shrugs and glanced at her, "you're not with Max...?" she asks, "I see Max with a new girl now."

Augustine scoffs, "haven't you heard? Max switched Slades." she says dryly and rolled her eyes, "you and Daniil, how are things...? I feel like we haven't seen each other in..." she trails off.

"Since Monaco." Kelly supplements. "Ah... that explains the..." Augustine raises a brow at Kelly's silent dig at Lenore but then shrugs it off.

"Yes... well..." Augustine swallows a forming lump in her throat, "Max always did like change, always wanted something better."

"And Lenore is...?"

"No." Augustine shakes her head, "but he is a man and I..." Augustine trails off and sighs, "I'd rather not talk about Max."

𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃

FROM PADDOCK TO RUNWAY:
SLADE AND PIQUET TAKE ON NYFW.
Written by Althea Perez | August 2nd 2018

The first day of New York Fashion Week brought motorsport fans to the runway with two standout appearances: Augustine Slade and Kelly Piquet.

Augustine Slade, daughter of former Formula One driver turned owner of Volkswagen AMG Racing, Nicholas Slade, turned heads as part of Dior's celebrated lineup. Draped in a sleek, modern ensemble that balanced timeless elegance with bold design, Augustine's runway debut left fashion insiders buzzing. Her poise and striking presence cemented her as a natural fit for the high-fashion world.

Shortly after, Kelly Piquet, daughter of F1 legend Nelson Piquet, captivated audiences with her ethereal appearance in a separate collection. Kelly's graceful stride and the airy elegance of her look showcased her versatility beyond her motorsport roots.

Both women brought an undeniable flair to NYFW, causing both motorsport fans and fashion fans alike to ooh and ahh over the two women.

𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃

The fluorescent lights cast a harsh glow over the tiled floor of the subway station, Augustine stands at the edge of the platform, her phone vibrating in her pocket. She pulls it out and her lips form a small frown.

max emilian verstappen.
i'm in new york. subway station.
platform 3. we don't have to talk
about what happened. just... meet me.

max emilian verstappen.
please.
read at 10:56 pm

Augustine looks up and let out a soft sigh. She knows she shouldn't — not with Carlos back home.

augustine serenity slade.
i'm at platform 2.
see you in a bit.
read at 10:58 pm.

She didn't hesitate in messaging him back — it had been two months since she last spoke to him — months of hurt and anger, of trying to move on. But something inside of her couldn't ignore the message, no matter how much she wanted to.

Sighing, she pockets her phone and made her way towards Platform 3; the air was cooler and crisper, the faint sound of a train echoing through the tunnels. She spots him immediately, leaning against a pillar with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his leather jacket; he looks different somehow — tired and less sure of himself.

"Max." she says quietly.

He turned to her, his blue eyes softening the moment they met hers. For a moment he doesn't say anything, just taking her in, as if he couldn't believe that she came.

"You came." he says finally, his voice low and laced with relief.

"I almost didn't." Augustine admits — a little white lie; when Max calls Augustine would show up.

"Let's get a drink." he suggests. "Old friends catching up." he says softly.

Augustine glanced at him, "one drink." she says quietly, her tone is firm but not unkind.

𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃

The soft hum of conversations and the soft jazz music from the corner piano filled the intimate hotel bar; six empty glasses sat in front of Max and Augustine — 3 gin and tonics and 3 cosmopolitans, her laughter seems to fill the space between them. "That's disgusting." Augustine wrinkles her nose as he sips from a gin and tonic, "you have the worst taste in drinks."

Max laughs warmly, holding the glass out to her, "and yet... you still drink from my glass." he points out as she takes his glass and takes a small sip with an eye roll, her smile lingers and her hand brushes against his as she hands the glass back, though neither moves immediately, the contact is electric and lingering.

The conversation, once lively and joking, now is silent and serious, "I missed you." Max says quietly.

"Max..." she started and her voice falters slightly when she noticed his look.

"Don't..." he says softly.

Her resolve cracks at the softness in his voice — she lowers her voice to a whisper, before she even realizes what she's saying, "come on." she whispers as she grabs his hand, pulling him towards the elevator.

𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃

The door to the elevator had barely shut before Max's hands were on her, his fingers tangling in her blonde locks, tugging and pulling on the strands, his lips capturing hers with nothing but desperation that had been built up in the two months he'd last seen her. A soft sound of desperation left Augustine's lips in between short gasps between kisses, "Augustine." her name left his lips in a needy sigh as they kissed.

"Stop talking." she murmurs against his lips as his hands roam her frame, before jumping apart when the elevator opens, her hand tugging him down the corridor down to her room, where her fingers fumble for the keys.

But the minute the door opens, his hands are on her again, his movements frantic and every kiss and caress was laced with desperation and longing. She barely made it to the edge of the bed before her coat fell to the floor, and her fingers attempt to push the leather jacket off his shoulders. His hands roam her frame, his fingers brushing against every exact spot he knows would cause Augustine to melt into his touch.

His fingers touch her as if he's trying to learn everything about her all over again — Augustine's pandora's box had been opened and every single time she had missed kissing and touching him had been released; there was no shutting that box now. Not anymore.

𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃